


Discord

by gimmefire



Category: Green Day
Genre: Angst, M/M, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-17
Updated: 2006-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-04 00:20:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/704322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gimmefire/pseuds/gimmefire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>One horrible, gut-twisting second. That one full second after the bass left my hand.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Discord

**Author's Note:**

> Set late in the recording of the ill-fated Cigarettes & Valentines. Also could possiblymaybesorta be seen as a prequel to [Need](http://archiveofourown.org/works/704262).

One horrible, gut-twisting second.

That one full second after the bass left my hand. The rosewood neck and bright strings sliding rough along my palm, and then nothing. Space. Air. And that second of horror when you think you've just lost everything.

Thrown it away.

I wasn't aiming for him. I would never do that, ever. He's my best friend and I'm a fucking adult and I would never do that. I just threw the thing. I did it out of frustration and rage and feeling a reality creep up on me that I wasn't ready to face. Creep up on me? More like run screaming into me.

I wasn't aiming for him, but he moved. That stupid, _oblivious_ sonofabitch turned away right in that horrible second and took two steps in the wrong direction. The bass - _my_ bass, from _my_ hand - clattered, bounced and spun all erratic over the hardwood floor of the studio. It hit him. Square in the back of the knees and brought him down. Hard.

Fuck, maybe I _was_ aiming for him.

Made a sick, wince-inducing sound that echoed in the gaping silence that followed. So did the bass.

The silence fucking destroyed me in the few seconds that it hung in the air. No power-ups, no extra life, fucking blew me right out of the air. An absence of sound took me right down with that bass and with Billie.

Billie. There, on his hands and knees. Facing away from me, head hung low. Still.

Tré spoke first. Good old Tré.

"Bill...ya alright, man?"

Fuck, he sounded so timid and small and I hated him for it. Words suddenly forced their way out of me, guttural, kinda broken and a little scared. Pride and anger swallowed any real apology in my tone.

"I didn't mean...I wasn't aiming for you. I...didn't mean to."

Billie stayed on the ground. Stayed where he was, head bowed, for a long stretch of moments. The backs of my eyes were stinging.

_Oh, God, this is horrible, just let's scrub this day out of existence and start over. Please can we-_

He stood up, my brain shut down. His body twisted, his hand wrapped around the neck of my bass. It came right back at me. He was aiming. The body jarred against my fingers as I tried to deflect it, making my whole arm sting, needles dancing along the skin. I didn't even think twice about it as I met Billie's eyes. They were bright. They burned. And they looked at me with so much anger and...and...

Hate...

"Why don't you just _DO IT_ , huh?! Like you're always threatening to..." he snapped derisively, voice strained and sharp, ice cutting through the air. "Why don't you just _fucking GO_?!"

He looked different. So fucking different. His hair was yellow blond with brown roots, wavy, messy. He was tanned, and Billie never tans. He's never sunbathed, not in all the years I‘ve known him, because doesn't have that kind of vanity and he gets bored too quick. But I dunno. Maybe he just caught the sun, because he looked golden. He glowed like some model, some vacant face from that aftershave ad on the fourth page of Rolling Stone. Bright skin that looked like it tasted like warm cornbread.

Anything I could've said got sticky and clogged up my throat. Billie shook his head, dragging a hand roughly through his hair.

"Y'know what? Fuck it, just fuck it..." he muttered, pushing aside the mic stand by him. It teetered for a second before coming down, this loud, deep boom that sounded like a thunderclap thudding from the speakers as the mic met the floor. Billie marched for the door, eyes on the ground.

"Billie, wait--" Tré's voice came. My joints were all stuck with molasses, moving felt difficult, but I reached for my friend as he passed me. My best friend. My fingers twisted into the arm of his sweater, and he tore away from me like it burned.

" _Getoffofme_..." he barked, words strung into one bitter bullet.

I finally got the capacity to move as the door was closing behind him.

"Where are you going?" I sounded more pissed off than I was. I knew Billie would pick up on the vague, cold traces of fear that were there too. Damn him. Damn his stupid--

"Away from here." his voice struck through my messy thoughts. He'd turned around halfway, eyes looking everywhere but at me. He threw his hands up, shaking his head. "Fuck this. I'm done. I'm out."

"What's that supposed to mean, out?"

Still the irritation was there. But the fear had just grown exponentially.

"I don't know." he replied, quieter. "I can't be here right now."

He turned around fully.

"Not...with you."

Ow. That was gonna leave a scar.

"You can't go."

"Fuckin' watch me..." Billie began to turn away again.

"You can't leave me." I said, voice hurt and accusing and disgusting. What happens when you're desperate.

"Hey!" he snapped, whirling on me. "Don't do that, that guilt trip shit you're laying on me."

Fuck, I hated that. I hated getting accused of shit like that. Concern and distress getting twisted into guilt tripping.

"You're _bailing_ , what the hell am I-"

He interrupted me and looked me right in the eye, this frustrated, damn near defeated look scrawled on his face.

"It's not working in there, you know it isn't. So I'm out."

Oh God. Oh God. Out? That's...what did that mean? How could he be so fucking vague and so calm about it? Shit, I was halfway between wringing his neck and crushing him against me so he couldn't leave. God no, this was...oh wow, I was talking...

"So you're just gonna give up on us?"

Yeah, Mike, speak you mind, that's always a fine idea. That never hurts anyone.

Dick.

" _Fuck you_!" Billie exclaimed, storming closer until I could count the veins in his bloodshot, dark-ringed eyes. He was right in my face and I could taste his anger and all I wanted was to pin him and shatter all this shit into insignificant pieces... "Fuck you, Mike, I've done _nothing_ but try this whole goddamn time! I-I'm trying my fucking hardest, I've never..." he broke eye contact and fisted a hand into his hair. "If you fucking assholes didn't keep shutting me out--"

He stopped abruptly, eyes going wide and cheeks colouring a little.

"We're not having this conversation now, I'm _going_." he insisted, distancing himself from me like a breath. He turned and began walking hurriedly down the corridor towards the exit. Away from me. And it burned that Billie was going to leave me with those words.

Words that had caught in my own throat so many fucking times the last few weeks.

"I have _never_ shut you..." I stopped myself before it turned into a damn soap opera and followed him. "How long will you be gone for? You _are_ coming back, right?"

I didn't want to hear the answer. I didn't at all. Can we just start today over? Please? Oh God...

I stood there, probably looking like a puppy whose owner's just about to abandon him. Shit, that's what it was. Please don't abandon me, Billie. Take care of me. I need you. Let me curl up in your lap. Let me just be near you. I'm right here.

Let me love you.

"Bill?"

Billie had stopped, a few feet from the door, a few feet from me. He didn't turn around.

"I don't know." he replied quietly. "Just...fuck off, back up. Leave me the hell alone, I can't deal right now."

Oh God.

That was it, wasn't it? That was how it was gonna end. All of it, kaput, gone, down in flames. Right there, in that corridor, after fuck knows how many years. That was history in the making, that was us burning out.

It couldn't be, it fucking couldn't be, he couldn't just...

It wasn't the end...

My hand floated out to twist my fingers into his sweater again. He didn't wrench away. I tugged weakly at him.

"You _can't_ go."

Long pause, and he turned around to face me fully. His eyes seemed huge and wet, they seemed to scream. His hands shook. The world teetered.

"Give me a fucking reason not to, then." he murmured. "Give me a reason to stay."

One long, electric second.

That one full second when we stared at each other, both waiting. And that one second of bright, sharp hope that you can touch, you can grasp, you can take back everything bad you've ever said or thought.

When you could get everything back and maybe more.

Is...that what he's asking for?

What he wants?

Then that second is gone, everything's clear and moving again, and you have to do something. Anything.

What you've always wanted.

I looked at him, eyes flickering with a billion nerves, and I did it. I leaned in towards him, lips dropped towards his, wanting so badly to claim them for my own.

And he pulled back. He leaned back, staring at me, eyes wide and damn near scared.

"What're you doing?" he asked, voice tight.

One horrible, gut-twisting second.

"I...I..."  
A tendency towards vowels as I stared at him in horror. Oh God. Oh God.

Billie took a step back, face mirroring mine. I reached out towards him, he backed off faster.

"I was...I was talking about the _music_..."

His voice wasn't tight anymore, it was like an earthquake was ripping through his throat.

"The fucking _music_ , Mike, I..."

The horror mixed with outrage, and he started to half-pace, half-stagger around in a circle. "I'm married, I'm married and I have two kids and I'm a good father and I'm a good husband and-and I have a family and YOU--" he paused and swung around to face me. Me, still stood there, horrified. Wondering if I'm dreaming all this. "I'm fucking _married_ , doesn't that--How _dare_ you..."

A long, soulless pause, and he stepped backwards, towards the exit. All the horror and outrage drained from him, and he glowered at me.

"I'm _married_." he repeated, voice still shaking but far more assertive.

He reached back for the door handle.

"You had your chance."

Quiet but devastating.

And then he was gone. Nothing but a breeze and a shattering memory.

One horrible, gut twisting second.

One second of horror when you know you've just lost everything.


End file.
